


keep on whisperin' in my ear

by cisspiciouss



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Everybody Lives, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Oblivious Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, all the losers are in on it, eddie hustles pool, eddie thinks a lot about how big richie is, kind of an excuse to write about how Big richie is, me too buddy, richie tozier's shoulders, saucy thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cisspiciouss/pseuds/cisspiciouss
Summary: Eddie doesn't know how to play pool. He asks Richie to teach him. What could go wrong?(alternatively: Eddie loves Richie's shoulders and will do damn near anything to be close to them.)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 250





	keep on whisperin' in my ear

**Author's Note:**

> title from "what i like about you" by the romantics!! this is my first reddie fic but i love these dorks so goddamn much they are my favorites ever! this is kind of based on a true story because my mom used to hustle pool in college, but for money, not, well, richie tozier. rated t for language and some saucy thoughts on eddie's part, but nothing graphic by any means! also fun fact: i own the shirt that richie is wearing, it's my most richie-core shirt.

As the Losers walked up to the bar to order drinks, Eddie saw it. Sitting in the corner, completely innocuous. The perfect opportunity.

See, in college, Eddie had learned how to hustle pool to make money. Mostly just a few bucks here and there, saving up for books or for those inevitable weeks where he ran out of food and was living off instant noodles and leftover lasagna. He had the looks for it, too- sweet, innocent, twinky. He would waltz up to some greasy-looking stranger, ask them to teach him how to play, cozy up to them, and after a few rounds, kick their ass. When he left college, he no longer had any use for pool, so he never really thought about it again. Until now.

He had been trying for _months_ to get Richie to take a fucking hint. They had been living together ever since Eddie divorced Myra, and Eddie had taken every opportunity to be close to Richie. Whenever Richie was cooking, Eddie would slide up behind him to ask what he was cooking. Whenever they would watch television, Eddie would put his feet on Richie's lap or his head on Richie's- huge, _broad as fuck_ \- shoulders. They had fallen asleep in the same bed more than once while drunk, for Christ's sake. Eddie didn't know how much more of Richie being an oblivious dumbass he could take. And now, he had his opportunity.

Richie had worn some stupid fucking tropical print shirt over a fucking T-shirt from an oyster bar- "Strip me, shuck me, eat me raw!" It proclaimed. It was fucking ridiculous and Eddie wanted to tear it off him.

All the Losers ordered their drinks and chugged them down. Ben and Bev went to dance. Stan, Bill, and Mike went to people-watch in the corner. Eddie and Richie stay at the bar a little longer, making conversation, until Richie waves his hand in Eddie's face. 

"Eds? Buddy? Hey, space cadet, you good?" Richie half-shouted over the noisy bar.

"Huh? Wh- yeah, I'm good. You ever played pool?" Eddie leaned in closer under the guise of being able to hear Richie. Pulling out all the stops as he remembered them.

"A few times, back in college, I was good enough to get by. Why, you wanna play?" 

"Eh, if I knew how. Missed out on that part of college. Wasn't a big partier." Eddie had to remind himself not to chuckle at that. _Not a big partier, my ass,_ he thought. 

"No, really? The great Spaghetti, not a partier? Never would have guessed. Come on, I'll teach you the basics." _Hook, line, sinker._ Eddie follows Richie to the pool table, watching Richie's huge form meander through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. Eddie followed the line of Richie's shoulders down his arms to his hand, which was holding Eddie's to lead him through the crowd- and when did that happen? And why did Eddie's hand look so tiny in Richie's? Jesus, he forgot how massive Richie was sometimes. Not just his physical form, but his presence. His stage persona when he did his stand-up, his real personality, he just took up so much space and was completely unapologetic about it, and Eddie adored it. 

"Yo, pal, you sure you're okay? You're real zoned-out tonight. Maybe you should stop drinking." Richie was, once again, in Eddie's face, trying to get his attention. 

"Nah, I'm good. Just a lot on my mind. Okay, so how do we do this? Where do the balls go?" Eddie tossed the joke into the air and-

"Funny, I said the same thing to your mom last night." Richie caught it. 

"Beep beep, dickwad," but Richie was beaming like a spotlight, and Eddie couldn't stop a grin from breaking out across his face.

"Okay, okay. So, you put the balls into the rack, like so, and we each get a cue," Richie walked around the table, grabbed two cues, and tossed Eddie one of them. "The objective is to get all of your balls- stripes or solids- into the pockets _before_ you sink the eight-ball. Sinking the eight-ball before all the other ones are in is no bueno!" 

"Okay, so how do you shoot?" Jesus, it was like being twenty all over again, playing the ditzy twink trying to get some scumbag to buy him a drink.

"You put the cue in your hand like this to aim," Richie demonstrated, giving Eddie an excuse to watch his hands. He slid the cue inbetween his index and middle finger. God, what he wouldn't give to feel those fingers running through his hair, and along his- "and use your other hand to hit the cue ball, uh, the white speckle-y one."

Right. _Focus, you useless gay bastard. We're on a mission here._ Richie broke the rack, sending the balls flying in every direction. None pocketed the first shot, so Eddie steeled himself for how much of a fool he was about to make of himself. 

"Okay so you hold it- like this?" Eddie flopped the cue on top of his middle knuckle, looking to Richie for validation. 

"You can, but only if you wanna fuck your aim up. So, I guess, as somebody who wants to win, go ahead!" 

"Okay, fuck you asshole. If you're so brilliant, why don't you show me?" The smaller man held his hands out, pool cue ready to be handled. Richie grabbed it and shuffled it properly into Eddie's hands, flushing a little. _Gotcha, asshole._ Eddie leaned down to the table, just wrong enough so that somebody who kind-of almost knew what they were doing would correct him. As it turned out, Richie fell exactly into that category.

"Woah, Eds, you weren't kidding when you said you didn't know how to play!" Eddie shot his best friend a look that said _I swear to whatever god is listening, if you don't shut the fuck up, I won't hesitate to murder you and leave you in a ditch._

"Once again, I invite the _professional_ to show me how it's done." Eddie laced the word _professional_ with sugary-sweet sarcasm, just to watch Richie bust out laughing. 

"Aw, well why didn't you just ask, puddin'? I could'a shown ya how ta shoot. I'll show ya whatever ya want, handsome." The taller man threw a rather killer Harley Quinn impression his way, saucy wink and all, before bending down next to Eddie to position him correctly. 

With Richie's hands on his back, and arms, and shoulders, and head, just maneuvering him this way and that, it suddenly got very warm in the bar, and very hard to focus. Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat and looked _anywhere but Richie,_ somehow catching the eye of Bev, whose eyebrow shot to her hairline upon seeing the compromising position Eddie and Richie were in. He saw Bev tap Ben, who looked over and cackled, throwing his head back. 

"Okay, now you aim for whatever pattern you wanna hit. Right now, it doesn't matter because neither of us have pocketed anything yet. So go for it, Spaghetti." Richie slapped his hip, which startled Eddie a good few inches into the air. He reset his posture, and aimed for the easiest shot. He could impress Richie later. Right now, he had a role to play. Eddie slid the pool cue through his fingers, familiar as ever, 

and missed by about an inch. 

"Oh, close but no cigar! Alright, slide over shortstack, let me show you how it's done." Richie moved in, posed, and pocketed a striped ball easily, and Eddie was actually somewhat impressed. It definitely wasn't the hardest shot, but it wasn't amateur. Eddie watched as he set up another shot, and missed. Eddie wordlessly set himself up, once again posturing to be just a little bit wrong. Once again, Richie chuckled at him. 

"I'm not fixing your posture every time, Eds! I'm gonna start lettin' you lose!" Eddie expected the joke, but what he didn't expect was Richie draping himself over Eddie in order to fix his stance. 

In that moment, a nuclear bomb could have gone off, and Edward Kaspbrak would not have noticed. All he noticed in that moment was Richie Tozier, fucking gargantuan extraordinaire, surrounding him _completely and entirely._ Richie was talking, Eddie was sure of it, but the proximity of Richie's mouth to his neck had Eddie's brain shut down. He was consciously aware of the way he was sweating and the fact that Richie could probably feel his heartbeat through his ribcage, but he was frozen in place, mostly by Richie's legs and shoulders bracketing his own. Eddie knew he had a thing for how big Richie was, but it was _so much worse_ in such close quarters. He felt his arms being shuffled and moved, but once his best friend kicked his legs open a little to widen his stance, Eddie could hear the Windows shutdown noise from inside his head. Richie could quite literally cover Eddie's entire body without even trying, and Eddie was _dying_ because of it. He wanted nothing more than to wake up surrounded by Richie's arms, head burrowed into his chest, or his neck. He wanted nothing more than to feel Richie surround him entirely, while they were entangled, kissing and holding each other and- 

"And then you shoot! Easy as that." Eddie was, unfortunately, dragged back to reality when the warm body that had been on top of him just seconds ago backed away in order to let Eddie make a shot. Eddie hit the cue ball, and knocked it directly into a solid ball, pocketing it into a corner. 

"Wouldn't you know it, you _can_ make a shot! Look at you go, Spaghetward!" Richie held out his hand for a high-five, and Eddie reciprocated on reflex. He stalked around the table, looking for his next shot. He was a little too distracted to think about hustling Richie at this point. As he eyed the table, he also saw the rest of the Losers watching him and Richie, matching expressions of amusement on their faces. They all knew Eddie knew how to play pool, because he had taught them all except Bev, who had _also_ hustled pool during her college years. They also all happened to know about his... minor crush on Richie, so they knew he was up to something. 

Eddie lined up the shot, and sunk it. It was easy enough that he could pass it off as beginners' luck, but he really didn't have to. Richie just pumped his fist in the air and yelled, 

"Yeah, Eds! You got it, now!" As Eddie lined up his third shot, with a clear view of the Losers behind Richie, he saw both Bev and Richie give him a thumbs up and a shit-eating grin, which gave him the confidence to do what he needed to do. He pocketed the ball, and then two more in quick succession. He missed the last shot on purpose, to give Richie some chance, and walked around the table to pat a semi-shocked Richie on the chest. He motioned the taller man to lean down, and said quietly into his ear,

"What was that about letting me lose, Rich? Thought you were good at this game." Eddie then pushed Richie away by the chest ( _Motherfucker he was sturdy, did he work out?_ ) and looked at his face. The man who was formerly smug enough to piss anyone off now looked totally shell-shocked. Richie looked like Eddie had felt minutes ago, when Richie basically laid on him. Eddie, although he understood the feelings between them were mutual, was surprised to see just how much that little thing affected Richie. Richie, cocky bastard to the extreme, was just _standing there._ He looked like somebody had just concussed him, the way he was staring at Eddie. 

"Come on, hot stuff, finish the game." Eddie taunted, knowing full well how distracted Richie was.

"That's- You- _Did you fucking hustle me Edward Kaspbrak? I will fucking murder you if you hustled me at pool are you kidding me?"_ Eddie laughed and patted the table. 

"Maybe a little bit. I played in college for a while. Did my fair share of hustling in college. 'Not a big partier,' my ass. I did more body shots than a sorority girl, asshole. I can't believe you fell for that routine," Richie just stared at him, mouth agape. "Now come on. Finish the game. I want another drink, and I wanna go dance with the rest of those douchebags." 

Richie continued to stare. Eddie sighed, long-suffering and incredibly exaggerated, as usual. 

"Do you need me to posture you, Mister Professional?" Eddie walked next to him and put a hand on his lower back, and that seemed to snap him back to reality. He jumped, but settled back into himself quickly, and leaned over. 

"Oh hell no, it's on now, Spaghetti. _You're going down._ " Just as Richie was lining up to take the shot, more focused than he'd ever been, Eddie bent down and whispered into his ear again.

_"Maybe if you ask nicely."_ Richie looked confused for a second, but as soon as the gears turned, he completely fucked up his shot. Eddie howled with laughter. 

"Hah! Asshole! That's what you get for being cocky!" Richie looked pissed, but Eddie could tell it wasn't serious.

"That's not fucking fair, Eddie! You can't just promise- promise _that_ while I'm trying to play! How the fuck am I supposed to do anything like that?" He gestured frantically, trying to make his point. 

"Whatever, sore loser. You're just pissed because you got played." Eddie sunk his last ball, and then the eight. He stood up, only to find Richie pressed against his back. He felt Richie's mouth press to the top of his head, then his neck, and his shoulder, before Eddie whipped around, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and kissed him. 

He'd kissed girls before, and it was nothing special. He'd kissed boys before, and some of it was really nice. But now, he was kissing _Richie fucking Tozier,_ the man who he'd been in love with since he remembered what love was, and it was _incredible._ There were no fireworks, no end-of-the-world moment. It was just him and Richie in a weird, probably dirty as hell, hole-in-the-wall bar, against a pool table, and it was perfect. It was a little sloppy, and they were both a little full of liquid courage, and Eddie loved every single second of it. He could kiss Richie for the rest of time. He could wake up kissing Richie and fall asleep kissing Richie for the rest of his life and be perfectly content. Richie's hands started to wander, and that's when Eddie felt Richie being forcefully pulled away by another pair of hands. 

"Hey, lovebirds, why don't you get a cab so the whole bar doesn't have to watch you play tonsil hockey?" He could murder Mike Hanlon in that moment. He saw at Richie, flushed and breathing heavy, and was sure he looked the same, if not worse. Eddie came to the realization that they both looked absolutely ridiculous, two grown men panting like dogs from making out in a dingy bar. 

"Okay. Yeah. Maybe we should get a cab. It is a little gross in here. Do you wanna uh, go to your place? Or, I mean, we live together but I meant- I didn't mean to assume- Actually I don't think I wanna- nothing personal just- both need to get tested first" Richie kissed him, gently this time.

"Spaghetti. Eds. Eddie-bear," Eddie cringed at that one, "I have been in love with your neurotic ass since the fourth grade. I have wanted to put your dick in my mouth since I knew what dicks were _for._ I can wait a little longer. I would, however, like to fall asleep cuddling like the sappy gay motherfuckers we deserve to be, if that's cool with you." Eddie nodded, and, rather forcefully, grabbed Richie's hand.

"Lead the way, dipshit, you're the one who's big enough to get us out of this fucking mess." Richie shot him a Look, but grabbed his hand and started leading Eddie through the crowd of people, slightly smaller than when they first got to the bar.

"So that's what does it for ya, huh, Eds? Knowing that I'm all big and rough-and-tumble, and intimidating-" The shorter man cut him off with a snort. 

"Please. You couldn't be 'intimidating' or 'rough-and-tumble' if you tried. You're like, a big fucking golden retriever." Richie laughed, a full, belly laugh that had Eddie grinning like his face was about to split in two.

"Oho, Eddie Spaghetti gets off a good one!" 

"Shut up asshole, and take me home so we can fall asleep watching Shameless. I still don't know what happens to Ian this season." 

"As you wish, my prince." Richie held up his hand for a cab, and the two of them climbed in.

They talked the whole way home, and when they got home, they giggled like teenagers the whole way up to their apartment, unable to keep their hands and mouths off each other, in a way they both knew wasn't going anywhere. They changed into comfortable clothes, and fell onto the couch together. Eddie slid into Richie's lap, put his head on Richie's chest, and passed out almost immediately when Richie started carding his fingers through Eddie's hair. It was nice to feel protected, and he'd always felt protected with Richie by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! feel free to leave a comment, kudos, or a suggestion for what else i should write!!


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